The Matchmaker's Happy Ending

“I’m not flirting with you, Marnie. If I was flirting with you, you’d know it.”

“That,” she waved a finger between them, “was definitely flirting.”

“No. This is flirting.” He got up again and approached her desk, then placed his hands on the oak surface and leaned over until their faces were inches apart.

“You are a beautiful, intoxicating, infuriating woman,” he whispered, his voice a low, sensual growl, “and I can’t stop thinking about you. And I love the way you look today. All…unfettered. Untamed.”

Heat washed over her body. “Okay.” Her words shook and she drew in a breath to steady herself. “Yes, that…that was flirting.”

He smiled, held her gaze a moment longer, then retreated to the chair. “Glad we got that settled.”

Settled? If anything, things between them had become more unsettled. Jack Knight. The enemy. In more ways than one.

About the Author

New York Times bestselling author SHIRLEY JUMP didn’t have the will-power to diet, nor the talent to master under-eye concealer, so she bowed out of a career in television and opted instead for a career where she could be paid to eat at her desk—writing. At first, seeking revenge on her children for their grocery store tantrums, she sold embarrassing essays about them to anthologies. However, it wasn’t enough to feed her growing addiction to writing funny. So she turned to the world of romance novels, where messes are (usually) cleaned up before The End. In the worlds Shirley gets to create and control, the children listen to their parents, the husbands always remember holidays, and the housework is magically done by elves. Though she’s thrilled to see her books in stores around the world, Shirley mostly writes because it gives her an excuse to avoid cleaning the toilets and helps feed her shoe habit.

To learn more, visit her website at www.shirleyjump.com

The Matchmaker’s Happy Ending

Shirley Jump

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Mom. I miss you every day.

CHAPTER ONE

MARNIE FRANKLIN LEFT her thirtieth wedding of the year, with aching feet, flower petals in her hair and a satisfied smile on her face. She’d done it. Again.

From behind the wide glass and brass doors of Boston’s Park Plaza hotel, the newly married Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Corliss waved and shouted their thanks. “We owe it all to you, Marnie!” Andrew called. A geeky but lovable guy who tended toward neon colored ties that were knotted too tight around his skinny neck, Andrew had been one of her best success stories. Internet millionaire, now married to an energetic, friendly woman who loved him for his mind—and their mutual affection for difficult Sudoku puzzles.

“You’re welcome! May you have a long and happy life together.” Marnie gave them a smile, then turned to the street and waited while a valet waved up one of the half dozen waiting cabs outside the hotel. Exhaustion weighed on Marnie’s shoulders, despite the two cups of coffee she’d downed at the reception. A light rain had started, adding a chill to the late spring air. The always busy Boston traffic passed the hotel in a swoosh-swoosh of tires on damp pavement, a melody highlighted by the honking of horns, the constant music of a city. She loved this city, she really did, but there were days—like today—when she wished she lived somewhere quiet. Like the other side of the moon.

Her phone rang as she opened the taxi’s door and told the driver her address. She pressed mute, sending the call straight to voice mail. That was the trouble with being on the top of her field—there was no room for a holiday or vacation. She’d become one of Boston’s most successful matchmakers, and that meant everyone who wanted a happy ending called her, looking for true love.

Something she didn’t believe in herself.

An irony she couldn’t tell her clients. Couldn’t admit she’d never fallen in love, and had given up on the emotion after one too many failed relationships. She couldn’t tell people that the matchmaker had no faith in a match for herself. So she poured herself into her job and kept a bright smile on her face whenever she told her clients that they could have that happy ending, too.

She’d seen the fairy tale ending happen for other people, but a part of Marnie wondered if she’d missed her one big chance to have a happily-ever-after. She was almost thirty, and had yet to meet Mr. Right. Only a few heartbreaker Mr. Wrongs. At least with her job, she had some control over the outcome, which was the way Marnie preferred the things in her life. Controlled, predictable. The phone rang again, like a punctuation mark to the end of her thoughts.

In front of her, the cabbie pulled away from the curb, at the same time fiddling with the GPS on the dash. Must be a new driver, Marnie decided, and grabbed her phone to answer the call. “This is Marnie. How can I help you make a match?”

“You need to stop working, dear, and find your own Mr. Right.”

Her mother. Who meant well, but who thought Marnie’s personal life should take precedence over everything else in the universe. “Hi, Ma. What are you doing up so late on a Friday night?”

“Worrying about my single daughter. And why she’s working on a Friday night. Again.”

The GPS announced a left turn, a little late for the distracted cab driver, who jerked the wheel to the left and jerked Marnie to one side, too. She gave him a glare in the rearview mirror, but he ignored it. The noxious fumes of Boston exhaust filled the interior, or maybe that was the bad ventilation system in the cab. The car had seen better days, heck, better decades, if the duct tape on the scarred vinyl seats was any indication.

“You should be out on a date of your own,” Marnie countered to her mother.

“Oh, I’m too old for that foolishness,” Helen said. “Besides, your father hasn’t been gone that long.”

“Three years, Ma.” Marnie lowered her voice to a sympathetic tone. Dad’s heart attack had taken them all by surprise. One day he’d been there, grinning and heading out the door, the next he’d been a shell of himself, and then…gone. “It’s okay to move on.”

“So, what are you doing on Sunday?” her mother said, instead of responding to Marnie’s advice, a sure-fire Helen tactic. Change the topic from anything difficult. Marnie’s parents had been the type who avoided the hard stuff, swept it under the rug. To them, the world had been a perpetually sunny place, even when evidence to the contrary dropped a big gray shadow in their way.

A part of Marnie wanted to keep things that way for her mother, to protect Helen, who had been through so much.

“I wanted to have you and your sisters over for brunch after church,” Ma said. “I could serve that coffee cake you love and…”

As her mother talked about the menu, Marnie murmured agreement, and reviewed her To Do list in her head. She had three appointments with new clients early in the morning tomorrow, one afternoon bachelor meet and greet to host, then her company’s Saturday night speed date event—

“Did you hear what I said?” her mother cut in.

“Sorry, Ma. The connection faded.” Or her brain, but she didn’t say that.

The cab driver fiddled again with the GPS, pushing buttons to zoom in or out, Marnie wasn’t sure. He seemed flustered and confused. She leaned forward. “Just take a left up here,” she said to him. “Onto Boylston. Then a right on Harvard.”

The cabbie nodded.

And went straight.

“Hey, you missed the turn.” Damn it. Was the man that green? Marnie gave up the argument and sat back against the seat. After the long day she’d had, the delay was more welcome than annoying. Especially to her feet, which were already complaining about the upcoming three-flight walk upstairs to her condo. She loved the brick building she lived in, with its tree-lined street located within walking distance of the quirky neighborhood of Coolidge Corner. But there were days when living on the third floor—despite the nice view of the park across the street—was exhausting after a long day. Right this second, she’d do about anything for an elevator and a massage chair.

“I said you should wear a dress to brunch on Sunday,” her mother said, “because I’m inviting Stella Hargrove’s grandson. He’s single and—”

“Wouldn’t it be nicer just to visit with you and my sisters, Ma? That way, we can all catch up, which we never seem to get enough time to do. A guy would end up being a fifth wheel.” Marnie pressed a finger to her temple, but it did little to ward off the impending headache. A headache her sister Erica would say she brought on herself because she never confronted her mother and instead placated and deferred. Instead of saying Ma, don’t fix me up, she’d fallen back on making nice instead. Marnie was the middle sister, the peacemaker, even if sometimes that peace came with the price of a lot of aspirin. “Besides, if I want a date, I have a whole file of handsome men to go through.”

“Yet you haven’t done that at all. You keep working and working and…oh, I just worry about you, honey.”

Ever since their father had died, Helen had made her three children her top—and only—priority. No matter how many times Marnie and her sisters had encouraged their mother to take a class, pick up a hobby, go on a trip, she demurred, and refocused the conversation on her girls. What her mother needed was an outside life. Something else to focus on. Something like a…

Man.

Marnie smacked herself in the head. For goodness sake, she was a professional matchmaker. Why had she never thought to fix up her mother? Marnie had made great matches for both of her sisters. Oldest sister Kat got married to her match two years ago, and Erica was in a steady relationship with a man Marnie had introduced her to last month. Despite that, Marnie had never thought about doing the same for her widowed mother. First thing tomorrow morning, she would cull her files and find a selection of distinguished, older men. Who appreciated women with a penchant for meddling.

“I’ll be there for brunch on Sunday, Ma, I promise,” Marnie said, noting the cabbie again messing with the GPS. “Maybe next time we can invite Stella’s grandson. Okay?”

Her mother sighed. “Okay. But if you want me to give him your number or give you his…”

“I know who to call.” Marnie started to say something else when the cabbie swore, stomped on his brakes—

And rear-ended the car in front of him. Marnie jerked forward, the seatbelt cutting across her sternum but saving her from plowing into the plexiglass partition. She let out an oomph, winced at the sharp pain that erupted in her chest, while the cabbie let out a stream of curses.

“What was that sound?” Helen asked. “It sounded like a boom. Did something fall? Did you hit something?”

“It’s, uh, nothing. I gotta go, Ma,” Marnie said, and after a breath, then another, the pain in her chest eased. “See you tomorrow.” She hung up the phone, then unbuckled, and climbed out of the yellow cab. The hood had crumpled, and steam poured from the engine in angry gusts. The cabbie clambered out of the taxi. He let out another long stream of curses, a few in a language other than English, then started pacing back and forth between the driver’s side door and the impact site, holding his head and muttering.

The accordioned trunk of a silver sports car was latched onto the taxi’s hood. A tall, dark, handsome, and angry man stood beside the idling luxury car. He shouted at the cab driver, who threw up his hands and feigned non-understanding, as if he’d suddenly lost all knowledge of the English language.

Marnie grabbed her purse from the car, and walked over to the man. One of those attractive, business types, she thought, noting his dark pinstriped suit, loosened tie, white button-down with the top button undone. A five o’clock shadow dusted his strong jaw, and gave his dark hair and blue eyes a sexy air. The matchmaker in her recognized the kind of good-looking man always in demand with her clients. But the woman in her—

Well, she noticed him on an entirely different level, one that sent a shimmer of heat down her veins and sped up her pulse. Something she hadn’t felt in so long, she’d begun to wonder if she’d ever meet another man who interested her.

Either way, Mr. Suit and Tie looked like a lawyer or something. The last thing she needed was a rich, uptight man with control issues. She’d met enough of them that she could pick his type out of the thousands of people in the stands at Fenway on opening day.

“Is everyone okay?” she asked.

The cab driver nodded. Mr. Suit and Tie shot him a scowl, then turned to Marnie. His features softened. “Yeah. I’m fine,” he said. “You?”

“I’m okay. Just a little shaken up.”

“Good.” He held her gaze for a moment longer, then turned on the cabbie. “Didn’t you see that red light? Where’d you get your license? A vending machine?”

The cabbie just shook his head, as if he didn’t understand a word.

Mr. Suit and Tie let out a curse and shook his head, then pivoted back to Marnie. “What were you thinking, riding around this city with a maniacal cab driver?”

“It’s not like I get a resume and insurance record handed to me before I get in a taxi,” she said. “Now, I understand you’re frustrated, but—”

“I’m beyond frustrated. This has been a hell of a day. With one hell of a bad ending.” He shot the cab driver another glare, but The man had already skulked back to his car and climbed behind the wheel. “Wait! What are you doing?”

“I’m not doing any—” Then she heard the sound of metal groaning, and tires squealing, and realized Mr. Suit and Tie wasn’t talking to her—but to the cab driver who had just hit and run. The yellow car disappeared around the corner in a noisy, clanking cloud of smoke.

In the distance, she heard the rising sound of sirens, which meant one of the people living in the apartments lining the street must have already called 9-1-1. Not soon enough.

Mr. Suit and Tie cursed under his breath. “Great. That’s all I needed today.”

“I’m sorry about that.” Marnie stepped to the corner and put up her hand for a passing cab. “Well, good luck. Hope you get it straightened out and your night gets better.”

“Hey! You can’t leave. You’re my witness.”

“Listen, I’m exhausted and I just want to get home.” She raised her arm higher, waving her hand, hoping to see at least one available cab. Nothing. Her feet screamed in protest. Soon as she got home, she was burning these shoes. “I’ll give you my number. Call me for my statement.” She fished in her purse for a business card, and held it out.

He ignored the card. “I need you to stay.”

“And I need to get home.” She waved harder, but the lone cab that passed her didn’t stop. “This is Boston. Why aren’t there any cabs?”

“Celtics game is just getting over,” the man said. “They’re probably all over at the Garden.”

“Great.” She lowered her arm, then thought of the ten-block hike home. Not fun in high heels. Even less fun after an eighteen-hour day, the last four spent dancing and socializing. She should have drunk an entire pot of coffee.

“I’ll make you a deal,” the man said. “I’ll give you a lift if you can wait until I’ve finished making the accident report. Then you can give your statement and kill two birds with one stone.”

She hesitated. “I don’t know. I’m really tired.”

“Stay for just a bit more. After tonight, you’ll never have to see me again.” He grinned.

He had a nice smile. An echoing smile curved across her face. She glanced down the street in the direction of her condo and thought of the soft bed waiting for her there. She weighed that against walking home. Option two made her feet hurt ten times more. Stupid shoes.

She glanced back at the misshapen silver car. “You’re sure you can drive me home? In that?”

“It runs. It’s just got a little junk in the trunk.” He grinned. “Sorry. Bad joke.”

A laugh escaped her and eased some of the tension in her shoulders, the pain in her feet. “Even a bad joke sounds good right now.” No cabs appeared, and that settled the decision for her. “Okay, I’ll wait.”

Not that it was going to be a hardship to wait with a view like that. This guy could have been a cover model. Whew. Hot, hot, hot. She should get his contact information. She had at least a dozen clients who would be—

You’re always working.

Marnie could hear her mother’s voice in her head. Take some time off. Have some fun. Date a guy for yourself. Don’t be so serious and buttoned up all the time.

What no one seemed to understand was this buttoned-up approach had fueled Marnie’s success. She’d seen how a laissez-faire approach to business could destroy a company and refused to repeat those mistakes herself. A distraction like Mr. Suit and Tie would only derail her, something she couldn’t afford.

The man opened the passenger’s side door. “Have a seat. You look like you’ve had a trying day. And I know how that feels.”

She sank into the leather seat, kicked off her shoes and let the platform heels tumble to the sidewalk. The man came to stand beside her, leaning against the rear passenger door. He had the look of a man comfortable in his own skin, at ease with the world. Confident, sexy, but not overly so. A hot combination, especially with the suit and tie. Her stance toward him softened.

“You’re right. I have had a long, trying day myself.” She put out her hand. “Let’s try this again. I’m Marnie Franklin.”

“Jack Knight.”

The name rang a bell, but the connection flitted away before she could grasp it because when he took her hand in his, a delicious spark ran through her, down her arm. If she hadn’t been seated, she might have jumped back in surprise. In her business, she shook hands with dozens of men in the course of a week. None had ever sent that little…zing through her. Maybe exhaustion had lowered her defenses. Or maybe the accident had shaken her up more than she thought. She released his hand, and brushed the hair out of her eyes, if only to keep from touching him again.

The police arrived, two officers who looked like they’d rather be going for a root canal than taking an other accident report in the dent and ding city of Boston. For the next ten minutes Marnie and Jack answered questions. After the police were gone, Jack turned to her. “Thanks for staying. You made a stressful day much better.”

“Glad to help.”

Jack bent down and picked up the black heels she’d kicked onto the sidewalk when she’d sat in his car. He handed them to Marnie, the twin heels dangling from his index finger by their strappy backs. In his strong, capable hands, the fancy shoes looked even more delicate. “Your shoes, Cinderella.” He gave her a wink, and that zing rushed through her a second time.

“I’m far from Cinderella.” She bent and slipped on the damnable slingbacks. Pretty, but painful. “More like the not-so-evil stepmother, trying to fix up all the stepsisters with princes.”

His smile had a dash of sexy, a glimmer of a tease. “Every woman deserves to be Cinderella at least once in her life.”

“Maybe so, if she believes in fairy tales and magic mice.”

She worked in the business of helping people fall in love, and had given up on the fairy tale herself a long time ago. Over the years, she’d become, if anything, more cautious, less willing to dip a toe in the romance pool. When she’d started matchmaking she’d been starry eyed, hopeful. But now…

Now she had a lot of years of reality beneath her and the stars had faded from her vision. She knew her business had suffered as a consequence. Somehow she needed to restore her belief in the very thing she touted to her clients—the existence of true love.

Jack shut her door and came around to the driver’s side. The car started with a soft purr. “Where to?”

She gave him her address, and he put the car in gear. She settled into the luxury seat. The dark leather hugged her body, warm and easy. Damn. She needed to step outside the basic car model box because sitting in this sedan made it pretty easy to fall for the whole Cinderella fantasy. It wasn’t a white horse, but it was a giant step closer to a royal ride. Having a good looking prince beside her helped feed that fantasy, too.

“I’m sorry for being grumpy earlier. That accident was the icing on a tough day. Thanks again for staying and talking to the cops for me,” he said. “I can’t believe you remembered all those details about the driver.”

She shrugged. “My father used to make me do that. Whenever we went someplace, he made sure I noticed the waiter’s name or the cab driver’s ID. He’d have me recite the address or license plate or some other detail. He said you never knew when doing that would come in handy, and he was right.” She could almost hear her father’s voice in her ear. Watch the details, Daisy-doo, be- cause you never know when they’ll matter. He’d rarely called her Marnie, almost always Daisy-doo, because of her love for the flowers. Kat had been Kitty, Erica had been Chatterbug. Marnie missed hearing her father’s wisdom, the way he lovingly teased his daughters. “Besides, the cab driver had his hands on the GPS more than the steering wheel, and that made me doubly nervous. If I could have, I would have jumped in the driver’s seat and taken the wheel myself.”

He chuckled. “Nice to meet a fellow control freak.”

“Me? I’m not a control freak.” She wrinkled her nose. “Okay, maybe I am. A little. But in my house, things were a little…crazy when I was a kid and someone had to take the reins.”

“Let me guess. You’re the oldest? An only?”

“The middle kid, but only younger than the oldest by nine months.”

“Oh, so not just the driver, but the peacemaker, too?” He tossed her a grin.

He’d nailed her, in a few words. “Do you read personality trait books in your spare time or something?”

“Nah. I’m just in a business where it’s essential to be able to read people, quickly, and well.”

“Me, too. Though sometimes you don’t like what you read.”

“True.” Jack glanced over at her, his blue eyes holding her features for a long moment before he returned his attention to the road. “So, Cinderella, what has made you so jaded?”

The conversational detour jolted her. She shifted in her seat. “Not jaded…realistic.”

“Well, that makes two of us. I find, in my line of work, that realism is a must.”

The amber glow of the street lights and the soft white light coming from the dash outlined his lean, defined profile with a soft edge. Despite the easy tone of his words, something in them hinted at a past that hadn’t been easy. Maybe a bad breakup, or a bitter divorce? Either way, despite the zing, she wasn’t interested in cleaning up someone else’s baggage. Stick to impersonal topics, Marnie.

His cell phone started to ring, and the touchscreen in the center of his dash lit up with the word Dad. “Do you mind if I answer this?” Jack asked. “If I don’t, he’ll just keep calling.”

She chuckled and waved toward the screen. “Go right ahead. I totally understand.”

Jack leaned forward, pressed a button on the screen, then sat back again. “Hey, Dad, what’s up? And before you say a word, you’re on speaker, so don’t blurt out any family secrets or embarrassing stories.”

“You got someone in the car with you?” said a deep, amused voice on the other end. “Someone pretty, I hope.”